


act your age

by angrylizardjacket (ephemeralstar)



Series: my youth is yours [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M, Musicals, Musicals Being Put On In A High School Setting But This Isn't A High School Musical AU, So Roger and John are in High School and Freddie and Brian Are In College
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-10-24 00:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17693852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/angrylizardjacket
Summary: So to say the production was off to a rocky start was an understatement; half, Giselle included, were there of their own free will and a love of theatre, but the other half were either guilted into it, like current-popular kid/former choir boy Roger, or convinced that it’s for the greater good, or thereabouts; John sort of stopped listening after the councillor told him he needed to get out of his shell for the third time that session, and he said yes to being a part of the crew mostly because he was tired of being patronised. Ash is just there to throw things at Roger while he sings about his balls.From auditions to show week to the moments that come after, Ash, Giselle, Roger, and John have the time to figure out how they feel about each other, while learning lines and lyrics, being students, and, at least in the case of the boys, still being in a fairly-active rock band, the other two members of which aren’t much better. Though at least Freddie and Brian, along with Ash’s brother Oscar, only have to worry about the teens’ feelings in their matchmaking shenanigans, right?





	1. Beautiful

The moment the casting call gets pinned on the notice board outside of the arts department staff room, Giselle knows, one way or another, that she’s going to be a part of it. 

“Did you see the school’s putting on  _Heathers_?” When she brings it up at lunch, her friends all nod and giggle and make comments about how ‘ _wouldn’t it be fun if we all auditioned; we could be the Heathers!’_ and something in Giselle’s gut twists as she gives them a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes as she hears them make assumptions about the casting. Taking a long sip on her chocolate milk and listens to the girls butcher lyrics and melodies, though she doesn’t bother correct them, they’re having fun after all, and besides, she’s the only one who’d benefit from showing them up, and despite popular opinion, she’s not mean or needlessly cruel like that.

Obviously she’s not blind to the way people regard her, she  _knows_ she’s pretty and rich and standoffish, which  _is_  partially a carefully cultivated personality she’s developed to survive high school, but it also happens to be partially things she can’t control, but that she has to take in stride anyways. She’s lived her life in the shadow of her parents, and how she’s presented herself, how she acts, has always been seen as a reflection on them. Her mother’s never been so high maintenance, but everyone talks about her father, and he can’t help but listen.

Speaking of her father, he’s elated at the prospect of her auditioning; he’s a producer, and a successful one at that, has had his hand in almost all of the big-name shows that have come through this town for the past thirty years. Giselle’s childhood had been complimentary tickets and front row seats and backstage passes; to see her finally taking an interest in actually performing was something akin to a return on a long-term investment, not that her father would ever say that to her, but part of her could tell.

Her mother smiles gently at Giselle over afternoon tea, Giselle’s dumped her bag on the floor by the kitchen island and is talking through her audition song choices out loud, and her mother looks on in awe. The school just asked for a three minute song, it didn’t have to be from  _Heathers_ , it didn’t even have to be from a musical, just to make it easier on those kids who probably weren’t as well versed in musical theatre history. Giselle, however, had practically been baptised in it, and wanted to show off more than just her impressive vocal range.

“You’re gonna ace it,  _Jellybean_.” Her mother muses with a fond grin as there’s a lull and Giselle devours a banana. Giselle hums and grins, leans into it when her mother kisses her forehead, and then is off and running, taking her bag and changing into her work uniform.

“Did you hear about the musical?” It seems like she’s asking everyone, and in moment of peace at work, that includes John Deacon, who was behind the counter filling a bucket with water and soap. He makes a noise that Giselle takes to mean that he hasn’t, though he’s still mostly focused on his task at hand. “I’m thinking of auditioning.” 

Giselle at work is nothing like Giselle at school, and it took John almost a full three weeks to realise this. They’re in the same year, in some of the same classes, but they’ve never spoken more than two words to each other before they started working together at the cafe that sat between their two houses. 

“You should, you’d do great.” There isn’t even a slight hesitation before his response, and Giselle is beaming despite herself.

“You don’t even know what show it is.” She counters, still wearing a grin, and John puts the bucket on the floor and sticks his mop in it.

“Yeah but I’ve heard you sing.” 

John might be one of the only truly positive forces in her life, Giselle realises as another customer steps up to the counter, and it shows. It’s not often that she puts up a front around him, at first it was because she was simply too tired from work to bother, and after all, it’s just John Deacon after all, it’s not like it’s a huge betrayal of trust if he lets it slip she smiles with real emotion on occasion. But the thing is, it doesn’t take long for her to realise that he’s as genuine as she is usually guarded, though he’s quiet enough that no-one really seems to notice.

By now, they’re actually, genuinely, very good friends, even if it doesn’t seem like it to anyone else. John talks her through her nerves for the weeks leading up to the audition, though he’s the only person outside of her family who she lets see her like this, and never at school. She’s different there, not cruel or unkind, just guarded; she’s not allowed to show hesitation like this at school, and it makes John’s chest tighten just a little knowing she allows herself to be like this around him.

The day before her audition, when Giselle’s shift ends and she’s about to head home for the night, John gives her a hug. It’s unexpected, she’s never taken him for a hugger, but it’s exactly what she needs right now after working herself up at the prospect of the looming audition. 

“You’re gonna do great, Geeg,” he’s the only one who uses that nickname, the only person her age who she’d let get away with it, and she hugs him back. “Just get a good night’s sleep, drink plenty of water, maybe some lemon and honey, okay?” Pulling back, he grins at Giselle’s faux exasperation.

“Yes,  _mum_.” Giselle rolls her eyes, but gives his shoulder a thankful squeeze before heading home.

“God, how’d they drag you into this?” When Giselle arrives at the music room fifteen minutes before her scheduled time slot, her stomach in knots, there’s only one other person waiting. She knows immediately from the blonde hair and flippant tone that it’s Roger Taylor, and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I,” Giselle hesitates, frowning, “I signed up?” She’s confused more than anything else, phone in her hand, sheet music in front sleeve of the binder she’s got clutched to her chest. Roger makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat, tipping his head back and a silence falls between them, broken only by the faint and not too terrible audition song that’s being muffled by the closed door.

“You’re Roger, right?” Her voice surprisingly level and confident; he seems to know who she is, if his earlier comment is anything to go off of. When he smiles, it’s an easy, cocky grin, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“Guilty as charged,” he confirms easily, “and you’re Giselle.” He pauses, regarding her for only the barest moment before he hums, “actually, ‘shouldn’t be surprised you’re here.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Bristling at the implication, it takes her a moment to push down the anger that flared within her when he mentions her father; he didn’t mean it as an insult, just making note of the correlation between her family and her current situation, “I’m  _not_ my father.”

“Would be weird if you were.” Roger agrees easily. The response takes Giselle by surprise enough that her anger dies down, and by then the other auditionee, a girl in Roger’s year, Giselle is pretty sure, invites him in for his audition, holding the door for him while blushing. She wishes him luck, and he winks at her, telling her he won’t need it. Before the door closes completely, both girls hear him announce himself.

“Hi, I’m Roger Taylor, I’m auditioning for the role of tree number three and I’ve prepared  _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_.” So clearly he does not want to be there. The other girl hides a giggle and doesn’t even acknowledge Giselle as she leaves. 

The thing is, of what she hears of it, his audition actually goes  _really_ well, a pitch-perfect version of  _Twinkle Twinkle_  if she’s ever heard it. She’s too nervous to tell him that, especially when his audition lasts all of five minutes, putting them ahead of schedule, and giving Giselle no time to calm her racing heart. She’s  _outwardly nervous,_ which is something she  _doesn’t allow_ herself to be on campus, or during daylight hours. The worst part is that when he opens the door, Roger Taylor  _sees_ her wide-eyed nervousness as he calls her in. He pauses for a beat afterward, frowning; he knew Giselle by reputation, the same way she knew him-

As soon as he starts considering that he may have seen a crack in her armour, it’s as if a physical barrier comes up, hiding her fear behind her eyes and a thin smile, and with a clear and precise focus, she pulls her lyrics sheet from her folder, breezing past him.  _Fifteen year olds are so fuckin’ weird_ , is all he really thinks after that.

Giselle waits until the door closes completely before she gives the panel, which consisted of the drama teacher and the music teacher, her most winning smile. They greet her kindly, and the music teacher reaches out for the music sheet and Giselle’s phone as she hands them over. They ask her who she’s auditioning for, what she’s singing, and seem surprised when she tells them she’s going for the lead, for Veronica.

She can see it in their eyes, they expect her to be a  _Heather_ , just like her friends, just like the rest of this school. They’re not meant to and they know it, can’t just judge kids like that, and they really try to not let it show, but Giselle saw it anyways.

“I’ll be singing  _Breathe_ from  _In the Heights_.” She says, and her voice  _doesn’t shake_.

When the song finally finishes, there’s a ringing in her ears, like the world around her has turned to white noise, and she can feel herself breathing hard, hands trembling, but she doesn’t look away from the teachers. There’s no hesitation; they ask her to prepare a song for both Veronica and Heather Chandler, and tell her when callbacks are. 

The tremble doesn’t leave her hands as she opens the door for the next kid, a girl in the year above her who is giving her this wide-eyed look like she heard Giselle’s entire audition and is  _dreading_ having to follow it, but when the girl shuts the door behind her, Giselle sees there’s one other person waiting in the hallway.

“That sounded lovely from out here, how did it go?” It’s John, smiling and sitting on the window sill, and Giselle’s response catches in her throat, just for a moment. 

“Are you auditioning?” She asks, confused, and he hops down from his seat, shaking his head, offering a shrug when her brow furrowed.

“I wanted to come cheer you on, sorry I couldn’t get here earlier.” He’s beaming at her, picking up her folder where she’d left it on one of the seats, handing it to her. “I don’t have long, I’ve got a half-programmed robot waiting for me back in the computer lab.” He muses as they take a few steps down the hall, and Giselle can’t bring herself to look at him;  _John Deacon,_ who everyone else in class jokes about building himself a friend rather than making the effort of actually talking to someone, made the effort for her. They’re friends, sure, but… Giselle doesn’t want to think about how pleased this all makes her feel.

“I think it went really well.” She admits, not reverting entirely to her popular persona, the smile she gives him is genuine. “I got a callback.” She grins tentatively, and John beams back at her, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“See, I told you you had nothing to worry about,” he starts, but Giselle’s answer is a reflexive snap.

“I was never worried.” It’s so clipped it stings a little, and she regrets it as soon as she says it, her cool mask now firmly in place no matter how much she wants to remove it. It’s a knee-jerk reaction to deny any sign of weakness, even though she knew John meant nothing by it. 

But still, they’ve stopped walking. 

“Of course you weren’t,” his voice is soft and reserved in the wake of the sharp tone shift, and he gives her a thin, guarded smile, “I should be getting back to my robot; I’m glad it went well, Geeg.” He hesitates like he wants to say something else, but Giselle doesn’t know what to say, how to explain or how to apologise, and turns and veers off down the hallway towards the engineering department.

And just like that, she feels anxious again, which isn’t a feeling she’s well versed with; she’s never snapped at John before, and he’s never left like that, and the anxious feeling lasts all through the next day and a half while she throws herself into learning her new songs, though it’s not going well. She’s dwelling on it, she knows she can’t focus, and the moment she apologises to him at work, and he grins at her like there’s nothing wrong in the world, she knows without even trying that she could hit every note of  _Candy Store_  if she wanted to right now. She doesn’t, and the customer is getting a little impatient, but she can’t stop smiling.


	2. Candy Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giselle decides to go against her typecast and go for the lead. She learns John’s in a band, callbacks happen, and maybe Roger does want to be here after all.

From the moment the first person asks Giselle about whether she’d gotten a callback, anyone who even remotely cares about the school musical is buzzing with the news. A  _fifteen year old_  getting a callback for the  _lead_? **  
**

_“Of course it would be Giselle.”_

She hears that one a lot, often derisive, often scornful, often deliberately in earshot. She doesn’t know what she’s done to warrant the scorn apart from just be good at something she enjoys, but she pretends like she’s deaf to it all. They think she’s arrogant when they hear her practicing in the music rooms of a lunch time, in the week leading up to callbacks, and she has to pretend her hands don’t shake.

She’s not  _nervous_ , she could sing this in her sleep, but Giselle knows what people think of her, and now even some of her friends are looking at her like they think she’s a brat, undeserving of even the  _option_ of the role, when she’s done nothing to earn their scorn. 

So that’s how she finds herself alone in music room, ten minutes after lunch has started, to nervous to practice and just scrolling through Instagram on the Thursday before callbacks, when the slightly ajar door was kicked in with no warning.

“Surprise delivery!” It’s not a voice she recognizes, which isn’t unusual, it isn’t her job to know everyone in school by their voice alone, but when the door swings open and in steps a girl with a mane of ginger hair, who’s uniform is flecked with paint, a girl who she doesn’t recognise at all at first, that’s when she gets confused. “Oh, shit, sorry,” the girl’s eyes go wide when she realises that the room isn’t occupied by who she thought it was. There’s a very brief moment of suspended animation where the girls share a look, before the ginger backs out of the room slowly.

Later, she’ll come to know the girl as Ash, as a friend, but for now, all she knows is that the girl didn’t seem to know who Giselle was, and actually looked away, left, unlike the rest of the school who would gawk, watching her every move and waiting for her to fall. For the first time in a long time, Giselle took a moment to remember  _why_ she was auditioning for the show, how much she actually loved it. She clicks play on her backing track and her hands don’t shake.

That afternoon, after work, after John’s taken them both a pastry from the display that are on sale and about to go off, Giselle finds herself sitting in the middle of the carousel in the park that’s closer to her house than his, considering the next day’s callbacks.

“Do you want me to come, for like, moral support?” John asks. It’s only just gone five-thirty and the sunset is painting everything golden, it catches in his eyelashes. John’s looking at his hands and the pastry in them.

“You don’t need to do that,” Giselle’s voice is soft and she nibbles delicately at her own apple danish, looking out over the rest of the park.

“I know, but I missed your first audition, and,” John hesitates, something unreadable in his tone for the barest moment. When Giselle looks at him, he’s finally looked up, grin mischievous, “between you and me, I wanna see Roger’s trainwreck of a callback.”

Giselle’s at a loss for a moment, seeing the amusement written all over John’s face, it takes her a beat to realise.

“Do you mean Roger  _Taylor?”_ She asks, and John nods, confused at her surprise, and Giselle can’t help herself, “he’s not actually that bad a singer.”

“Oh, I know,” and even that throws her for a loop, how does  _John Deacon_ know what kind of singer  _Roger Taylor_ is? But John keeps talking, “but he was guilted into an audition by the music teacher and he’s making it as painful as possible for her.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Giselle frowns, holding up a hand, “how do you know all this?”

“He told me.”

“He  _told_ you?”

“Yeah, last band practice, he wouldn’t stop griping about it.”

“Oh my God, you’re in a  _band_?” Giselle’s grinning, actually grinning and wide-eyed, “Johnny why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

Giselle’s not nervous the following day, which comes as a surprise. It starts to hit her a little as she climbs the stairs to the music room. Her stomach starts to knot when she can hear a chorus of other voices on the other side of the door. There, in uncomfortable plastic chairs, are her friends and peers, all wanting their shot at the lead, just like her. She takes a seat in the front; her hands don’t shake and her expression doesn’t betray her nervousness, though she can’t help but chance a look behind herself to scope out the competition. Instead of looking at the other students there for actual callbacks, she sees John in the back row, expression carefully neutral, holding a book he’d apparently just been reading. 

He raises an eyebrow at her, a silent question, barely detectable.  _Are you okay?_ Giselle swallows, gives the barest nod back, and John returns the almost imperceptible nod and goes back to his book. A strange calm fills Giselle as she turns back to the front. None of the other students caught the exchange, but Giselle’s nerves settle themselves for it.

After everyone’s arrived, the drama teacher stands up and introduces her TA and Assistant Director, a uni student named Gwilym - a few girls giggle when he gives the students a wave - and then she pulls out a clipboard. They’re going alphabetically, and Giselle knows that whether they’re going by first or last name, she’s somewhere in the middle.

They’re going by last name, and the first few singers are, to be blunt, middling. Mostly on key, flat performances, awkward with an audience before them, even a small one. The moment the waifish, blonde Year Eleven, Lucy, stands up, Giselle assumes it’s going to be the same. She sees the girl’s perfectly straight fringe and neatly ironed uniform and the way she’s wringing her hands a little, and thinks that maybe the girl’s going to sing something gentle, going for the part of Veronica, so it comes as a surprise when Lucy shakes out her nerves and the drama teacher asks if she’s still comfortable singing for JD.

“Yep,” Lucy’s smile makes her look much less demure, and when she asks the teacher to put on ‘ _Meant to be Yours’,_ Giselle’s interest is well and truly piqued. 

Lucy’s the first Year Eleven, and the first one who seems to have experience and enthusiasm, and it shows. The moment the opening lines tumble from her lips, she throws her arms open wide, changing her whole stance and sitting low in her hips. She’s a decent singer, her voice higher than what Giselle is used to hearing for JD, but as she gets to the lilting chorus of the intense song, Lucy brings an uncomfortable softness, an eerie gentleness, and then she’s pacing, wild-eyed and wringing her hands.

Everyone’s on the edge of their seats watching as she throws herself into her performance, as if she’d sent quite a while practicing, which Giselle guessed she had been. Before she can shout for ‘Veronica’ to open the door, the music teacher pauses the song and breaks the spell. Lucy’s hair is a bit of a mess where she was frantically running her hands through it, but her smile is kind and sincere as she looks to the teachers for approval.

She’s the obvious front runner, and the few boys who have gathered all shift nervously in their seats.

There’s a few more songs, just over half a dozen people, a few of whom were going for the role of Veronica. There comes a few surprises, including  _local popular footy boy_  Ben Hardy also auditioning for JD with ‘ _Freeze Your Brain’,_ though Giselle wonders if he can get as passionate and manic as Lucy had appeared to. And then it seems like no time at all has passed before Giselle is called.

And the muttering starts. Someone calls her Heather. Giselle just blinks slowly, refuses to acknowledge them. John’s put down his book. The teacher asks her what she’ll be singing, and Giselle smooths out her skirt.

“Seventeen.”

The muttering dies down. John gives the barest smile and something tightens in Giselle’s chest. If nothing else, she’s got at least one real friend in the crowd. The song starts, and Giselle lets herself get lost in the song, lets herself be gentle and vulnerable the way Veronica is, the way Giselle doesn’t let herself be. This version, her version, it’s not a duet, it’s also probably too heartfelt for a callback, but sometimes it fucking hurts to hold up a legacy the way she does, and this song just  _gets her_.

The song comes to an end and there’s silence. Giselle doesn’t wait for the teachers to give feedback, she just returns to her seat and doubles down on looking as though she wasn’t a ball of nerves.

Things take an upswing, however, as after two more performances, Giselle recognises Joe Mazzello as he stands. He’s in the year above her, seems nice enough, not that they’d ever really interacted.

“And what will you be-”

“Blue.” Joe announces. A few people snicker or giggle, Giselle frowns, just a little. He’s got a casual confidence about him, a wide, easy smile, mischief in his eyes.

“Joseph, who are you singing for?” The drama teacher sounds so tired.

“Anyone; everyone. Gimme something fun, I swear I’m not making fun with this song, go on-” he gestures insistently to the phone with the backing tracks on it. 

And thus, Joe proceeds to put the audience in stitches with his over the top one man duet about his balls; even Giselle is smiling. He’s so earnest and enthusiastic, seems to be genuinely enjoying himself, jumping between the two characters who are meant to be singing, falling to his knees to belt the final note as the song comes to a close; there’s a rousing round of applause, though a majority of that comes from the cluster of other Year Tens who he’s probably friends with, and after that, the only noteworthy performance comes from Roger.

“I’m going to be singing-”

“A real song, please Roger.” The music teacher tells him patiently.

“Twinkle twinkle  _is_ a real song,” he counters, and clears his throat, reconsidering. “Can I also sing  _Blue_?” He looks at Joe, who just grins.

“Do you know the words?” The music teacher pinches the bridge of her nose. Roger’s own grin widens.

“No I do not.”

“If you really didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t have come; I’ll note your stated disinterest, okay? You don’t have to be a part of this if you don’t want-”

“No.” He’s quick to cut her off, and the teacher gives an actual start, frowning at him, “fuck, fine-”

“Language, Mr Taylor.”

“I write music, I could just like, sing a few bars of that,” he seems actually uncomfortable. Slowly, after a moment, the teacher tells him it would be fine, and there’s a new, noticeable tension in the air. Roger’s expression sours and he quickly pulls his wire-rimmed glasses from where they were perched on his head, and shoves them into his pocket. “All of you better come to my next gig, okay?  _Queen_ , we’re playing at Valentinos’ tomorrow night, all ages-”

“Just sing your car song,” comes a voice from the crowd, and when Giselle turns, she sees the ginger girl from the day before lounging in the back row beside John, who’s snickering.

“I’m not singing the car song, shut up, Ash!” Roger’s turned a little pink, but he clears his throat, “actually our singer, Freddie, wrote this one.” He clarifies. He sings the opening verse of ‘ _Don’t Stop Me Now_ ’, and though it’s a little all over the place in terms of lyrics, it shows off his range, and damn if he’s not passionate about it. 

Once he’s finished, the teachers actually smile and compliment him on it, and Roger, pleased, heads back to the back row, where the girl, Ash, as well as a bunch of other Year Elevens, waited for him. Ash gives him a shove and he shoves her back, grinning. John had gone back to his book.

There’s only a few people left after that, and after they’ve all wrapped up, the teachers announce that they’ll put up the cast list on the Arts notice board on Monday morning before school. Giselle is quietly confident in her abilities, though there’s a fear, a deep rooted anxiety that she’s going to be typecast as the alpha bitch; people will use it as excuse to say ‘ _art imitates life_ ’ and she’s  _tired_ of it.

But she’s got all weekend to worry, why get ahead of herself now?


	3. Fight For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash goes to see Queen’s all-ages gig, makes a friend with ‘that year ten who sung about his balls’, and makes an enemy.

“They’re putting on a musical at my school.” Ash tells Oscar over dinner on Saturday night, and Oscar snorts where he’s chopping up tomatoes.

“You’re the lead, I assume,” it’s dripping with sarcasm, and Ash isn’t even close to offended, laughing at the very idea as she washes lettuce in the sink.

“Of course, that’s me, I’m Heather.” She snickered, but Oscar paused, and when she looks over her shoulder at him, he’s wide-eyed.

“They’re putting on Heathers?” 

Ash nods, a little confused.

“Like a Junior version, or -?” He trails off, but Ash just shrugs helplessly. Oscar hums thoughtfully before going back to the task at hand. “That feels inappropriate.”

“You’re telling me, one of the Year Tens sung about his balls, it was funny as shit, but like… felt super weird too.” Shaking the excess water from the lettuce, she quickly placed the leaves in front of her brother as he scooped the chopped tomatoes into the salad bowl. She hesitated by his side for a moment before adding, “Roger’s probably gonna be in it.”

“ _Oh_?”

“Don’t ‘ _oh_ ’ me.” Ash snapped, turning a little pink around the ears, “I was only at callbacks because of him and John.” She shoved her brother in the side before moving to go collect cheese from the fridge; Oscar has been strangely quiet as he shreds the lettuce and adds it to their salad. “ _What_?”

“I don’t know where to start,” he’s holding back laughter, she can hear it in his voice, “the fact that you went to callbacks for a musical, that John and Roger might be  _in_ said musical, or that the musical is  _fucking Heathers_.”

“John’s not in the musical, he was just at callbacks, like me, for Roger i think,” Ash muses for a moment. The conversation moves away from the musical and the siblings have dinner in peace,before Ash hurries off upstairs to get ready for the night. It’s the first all ages gig Queen has played since she’d first seen them, and she was excited to be able to watch the band without having to worry about being thrown out for her fake ID.

“Boy, you’re going with her, right?” Ash can hear from her room when their father gets home, when he asks about the kids’ plans for the night, and Ash can almost hear Oscar’s eyeroll.

“Obviously.”

He’s not; he’d made it very clear that he’d rather jump into a volcano than spend a night surrounded by highschoolers. Not even the chance to see Brian could lure him in. But he was Ash’s ride, and he was studying at a friend’s house and said he would pick her up whenever she needed him. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he’d do pretty much anything to enable her crush on Roger, a crush which Oscar found both hilarious and adorable.

Ash still doesn’t know a lot of people from school; she’s friends with Roger mostly because her brother is in love with their shared tutor, at least that’s what she tells herself, and Oscar keeps dragging her along to see their band perform. She’s content talking to her friends back in Scotland via snapchat and messenger, and throwing herself into her art. Which is probably why the first person she recognises at the bar is that girl from the callbacks, the one Ash had barged in on on Thursday with the killer voice… What was her name again? It started with G.

The girl introduces herself as Giselle, and her handshake is firm and unwavering, as is the confident stare she fixes Ash with. She’s dressed in a floral dress and denim jacket with her hair pulled back, and looks far too classy to be both fifteen, and in what happens to be a buffet style restaurant. But the night’s young, and the moment one of Giselle’s friends finds her, Ash, once more, feels out of place.

The band is warming up when Ash settles herself on one of the sofas at the edge of the crowd. John waves to her, Freddie and Brian both throw her a smile, though they do look for Oscar in the crowd and seem disappointed when they don’t find him, and Roger doesn’t seem to see her, though that’s to be expected, he keeps forgetting to wear his contacts to gigs and usually flies blind.

What comes as a surprise is when a somewhat familiar figure drops themselves onto the sofa beside her.

“You’re Ash, right?” It’s the guy from the callbacks who had sung about his balls. Ash has to take a moment.

“Yeah, why?” 

“Oh, I just thought I recognised you from the callbacks.” He holds out a hand. “Joe.” Ash shakes it warily.

“I didn’t sing.”

“ _But_  you’re very distinctive.” Joe counters, and his grin is bright. Ash snorts, that’s the first time she’s been called distinctive and had it sound like a compliment.

“You were  _fun_  in the auditions,” Ash says carefully, and Joe at least has the decency to flush an amusing shade of scarlet, though his smile is still wide.

“Well hopefully fun gets me a role.” Crossing his fingers, he slouches a little lower into the sofa. Joe’s easy to talk to, actually seems as out of place as Ash feels, and it’s kind of nice to be able to enjoy a gig with someone who wasn’t her brother. Ash’s own sense of humour is rather dry, but it seems to make Joe laugh, and he seems to enjoy the band, for which Ash is quietly glad, she’s become rather protective of them, not that she’d ever admit it.

“You’re friends with that Roger dude, right?” Joe asks, and Ash hums, tipping her head to the side as she looks up at the band, “that’s how you know these guys, isn’t it?”

“Actually, my brother’s in love with the guitarist,” Ash corrects quickly, without really meaning to, and Joe barks out a laugh. It’s something she jokes about with Roger and John, but it’s not something she usually casually mentions to anyone else.

“I get that; look at his hair, he’s a majestic man,” Joe hums in agreement for a moment, before turning and grinning at Ash, who let herself relax, just a little, and smile back.

“But yeah, I’ve got art and physics with Roger,” Ash muses, and Joe nods thoughtfully. It’s at this moment that the opening chords and beats of ‘ _I’m In Love With My Car’_ starts playing, and Ash’s entire expression scrunches up with amusement, much to Joe’s confusion.

“It’s the car song,” is all the explanation Ash gives, and Joe’s expression lights up.

“Is this the one you yelled at him about in the call backs?”

“You remember that?”

“He  _wrote_  a car song, of course I remember it.”

“He wrote it right after he got his Ls,” Ash’s lips quirked into an amused, but surprisingly fond smile, “at least that’s what I’ve been told; Freddie refuses to sing it.” 

Actually listening to the song, Joe manages to go through an entire face journey, turning to Ash as it, along  with the first set, comes to an end.

“It’s just a bit…  _weird_ ,” he murmurs, and Ash can’t help but laugh at that, loud and amused, and it’s enough to draw Freddie over to her. Ash gets to her feet to hug him, letting him spin her around.

“Ashley, my favourite groupie, you are my only solace in a night full of teenagers,” Freddie sighed dramatically, finally putting Ash down, giving Joe an amused smile, “no offence, of course.” 

“When you sing that well, you can get away with saying whatever you want I guess; I’m Joe.” He stands, grinning and holding out his hand. Freddie takes it without hesitation, and Ash gives the singer a fond yet exasperated smile.

“Oh, I like you,” Freddie nods very seriously, shaking Joe’s hand. After a beat, he turns back to Ash.

“Where is dear Oscar?”

“He’s allergic to high schoolers who aren’t me, John, or Rog,” Ash answers back, and Freddie sighs.

“Awful, but understandable,” and with that he’s swanning away to make conversation with whoever Brian had found. 

Roger’s the next over, though Ash isn’t surprised by that. He shakes Joe’s hand first, a little out of breath from both singing  _and_ drumming, but he thanks the other guy for coming before he makes a point to lean on Ash.

“You didn’t even realise I was here until Freddie came over, did you?” Ash asks, smirking and crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Of course I knew,” Roger huffs, his nose in the air, “Deaky pointed you out after the first song.”

“Because you asked about me?”

“Because you’re somehow still one of the only people in our school who he knows the name of,” Roger countered, though he was a little pink around the ears. After a beat, he turns his attention to Joe, but doesn’t move from Ash’s side, in fact, she’s got an arm slung around his waist to help him keep balance. “You having a good night?” 

“Great night, actually,” Joe answers honestly, “you guys are talented as shit, how old is the kid on bass?” 

“Fifteen; he goes to our school actually,” Roger preens a little, proud of John; he spots the kid in question milling about, drinking a glass of water near the stage area and calls him over. “Deaky, this is-” he frowns a little, at a loss for Joe’s name. Joe, however, fills in smoothly, shaking the bassist’s hand, complimenting him brightly. John grins, quietly pleased.

“I gotta go make the rounds, say my hellos,” Roger muses, looking to Ash, her expression is quietly adoring and amused when she looks back, “you sticking around for the rest of the sets?”

“Of course; Oz said he’s studying at a mate’s house which means they’re doing anything  _but_ studying, I wouldn’t want to interrupt too early.” She grins, an expression Roger matches easily.

“Watch it, don’t let Brian hear you saying that,” he responded, which makes Ash laugh, though he leaves not long after with a faint ‘catch you round’. Joe and John have been making good conversation, much to Ash’s surprise; Joe’s the first person to really compliment the way John dances while he plays, and they’re getting on like a house on fire. 

The second set goes even better than the first, and Ash lets herself get dragged onto the dance floor. It’s abundantly clear within ten seconds that she can’t dance to a beat to save her life, but the other kids around her aren’t seemingly paying attention, apart from Joe, who somehow managed to dance in time with her, making her feel just that little more comfortable. As the second set is winding down, Ash makes her way through the now-closing restaurant section to the bathroom.

Things take a turn, however, as she passes a few guys she thinks she recognises from her year, sitting around one of the tables in the mostly empty restaurant.

“Is this why he’s not playing footy? To drum in some pussy-ass band with those fuckin’ grandpas?” One scoffs, and Ash has a sinking sensation in her stomach as she comes to a stop.

“Did you hear him sing?” Another laughed, giving a screech as an imitation, “who’s cat got run over?” 

“Just because you don’t like the music, doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole;” Ash hears herself saying, gaining the attention of all three of them, “if you’re not having a good time, go home.”

“Who are you?” One scoffed, though all three of their faces read clear derision.

“I don’t think I remember asking your opinion,” the third sneered, but she doesn’t back down, “fuck, are you one of their little fangirls?”

“I never got why half the girls froth over him so much, he looks like a barbie,” the first muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“You’re talking about Roger, right?” Ash asked, nervous butterflies in her stomach as she held her ground.

“Piss off,” the second rolled his eyes at her, “go slobber over him and leave us out of it.”

“I’m his  _friend_ ,” though at that the three jocks snickered and rolled their eyes.

“Whatever,” the third smirked, “I’ve got more talent in my left nut than he’ll ever have in his life.” 

That’s just a blatant  _lie_ , and Ash feels anger bubble up in her, white hot and filling her all the way to the tips of her fingers. She usually tries very hard to curb her more aggressive impulses, but there’s a stack of plastic serving trays beside her, and she picks one up, surging forwards with a scarily calm expression, and smacks the third dude in the face hard enough that his chair topples backwards. He lands safely on the plush carpet, but the first dude, the tallest of the three stands abruptly, hitting Ash in the face out of sheer instinct now that she was in range. A few of the other students have caught the altercation, and now the band’s being drowned out by the quickly growing chant of ‘ _fight fight fight’._

“Fuck off! Psycho bitch!” The second shoves her backwards hard enough to fall on her ass, and Ash seems too stunned to stop it, both from being hit, and hitting someone to begin with. A few people are trying to help her to her feet while also shoving her back at them, a security guard is shouting, but then there’s someone hauling her quickly through the crowd. 

The band is still playing. Seeing how quickly Joe is moving Ash back to the sofas, all four of them are wearing looks of concern, still not quite sure what happened.

“I’m so fucking dumb,” Ash is shaking, curling in on herself despite how her nose bleeding onto her jeans.

“What happened?” Joe asks, voice quiet, barely audible above what Ash recognises as the final song of the set, “Ash, those guys are on the footy team, what the hell happened?”

“I gotta call Oz.” Her hands fumble for the phone in her jacket pocket, and she’s up, heading for the exit in a blur before Joe can stop her. She’s crying quietly when she calls her brother, and he’s immediately rushing out the door to come pick her up. She waits, sitting on the curb, hand holding her nose, if only to catch the steady, gentle drip of it.

Before Oscar arrives, someone sits beside her.

“You going?” It’s Roger, he sounds…  _confused_.

“Yeah.” Ash still holds her nose; she can’t see Roger’s concerned frown.

“Why? What happened?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. It was stupid.  _I_  was stupid.” And finally she raises her face to meet his gaze. Roger’s eyes widen as he sees the way the blood from her nose drips from her hand onto her jeans with this change of angle. 

“Holy shit.” Gingerly, he takes her hand away from her nose, sees the bruise blooming over her cheek and nose. After a beat, he smiles, actually looks a little starry-eyed. “You got into a fight? That’s bad ass!”

“Oz is gonna kill me,” Ash says sheepishly, but she’s smiling. He’s still holding her hand, though neither seems inclined to let go, “and it wasn’t really a fight, it was like, maybe three hits.”

“Did you hit someone?” He asks, seemingly delighted. Ash flushes, her nose bleeding a little harder, but her smile widens at his enthusiasm. She nods. “At  _my_ fucking gig, that’s nuts, Ash.” He scoots closer, tucking her arm into his as they wait for her brother.

“Oh god, don’t remind me,” she says, speaking to his mention of nuts, though he doesn’t realise, and just acts confused. Ash, unwilling to admit that she’d actually gotten into a fight  _because of him_ , is grateful when Oscar pulls up a few moments later, screeching to a halt a few metres away. Roger’s smiling, and gives Oscar a wave as the taller of the siblings steps out.

“Hey biscuit, what’s wrong?” Oscar asks, though he goes pale as a ghost when she turns to face him and he takes in the damage. “Jesus H Christ on a bike.” 

“What’s the H stand for?” Roger asks blithely, which makes Ash laugh. She gives his hand a squeeze. “She’s alright, just a little bruised.”

“Yes, I can see that Roger,” Oscar’s tone is unusually clipped as he offers Ash a hand, but once Ash is standing, he sighs. “Thank you for keeping her company.”

“She’s our favourite groupie,” Roger shrugs easily, and Ash has to turn to hide her smile. Roger heads back inside as Ash and Oscar get into Oscar’s beat up, shitbox of a car.

“What happened, are you okay?” His voice is so soft as he turns the key in the ignition. Once the car is on, Ash is still quiet, and Oscar leans over her to open the glove compartment, and pass her a travel pack of tissues. Ash’s hands are shaking again.

“I was being dumb, okay? I just got… protective and shit.” It was difficult for her to explain, but Oscar nodded like he knew exactly what she meant.

“Do you wanna get a thickshake?” He asks quietly. Ash’s voice is barely audible when she agrees. They drive to McDonalds in silence, and in the line at the drive through, Ash plugs her phone into the aux cord. They both get chocolate thickshakes and listen to pop music, and when they get home, their father calls out asking how the show was. He doesn’t come out of his office. Ash and Oscar lie through their teeth.


End file.
